Blank Canvas
by TheHippoman
Summary: Valoran is starved for culture, and an artist has come to enlighten. Khada Jhin's new assignment will take him across the continent, delivering brutal "performances" and perhaps discovering a few secrets that not even the Virtuoso has realized in the process. T Rating for Violence, no sexual content. (4/12: Still on hiatus, workshopping better ending)
1. Prologue: Curtains

**AN: Planning on this being the next "major" story after Unholy Alliance. Unless it turns out awful. Hope it doesn't turn out awful. Feedback on awful/nonawfulness is appreciated. (The former moreso, because I'm admittedly biased!)**

"My beloved!" The ruby-robed man fell to his knees, his arms splayed in woe. "How could this be?"

Before him, a woman was smiling cruelly, a knife held between her slender fingers. "Beloved? You, as always, lie to me, demon."

 _What dreadfully trite dialogue._

The stage was poorly made, a teak wood paneling would never be used in the setting. The Ionian banner in the background was completely the incorrect color for the period, and the props had such clear scuff markings. Jhin could already tell which false chair the actress would bumble into taking her fall at the end of the scene, as it was obviously a soft fake.

Perhaps not obviously to everyone. But he was different.

Khada Jhin sat in the shade of the theater's highest seats. The open roof provided the legendary purity of the Ionian mountain air to the patrons. From this angle, he was invisible to anyone below, due to the outward construction of the building. And, due to the sun's position behind him, the actors themselves would note little but a blur in his place, certainly not with enough detail to make out the pistol clutched tightly in his right hand.

Really, it was like they were asking him to conduct this assassination.

Below him, the play continued. The actors were thankfully poor enough that Jhin would gladly focus on other things, such as his target. An Ionian Monk, a feeble old man, sat in the front row, his glossy eyes transfixed on the show before him. Jhin had no idea exactly what the man had done to earn the ire of his employers, and the assassin didn't much care. An involuntary shiver went down his spine as he stared at the elder's spotted face. Imperfect. Ugly. He would make him a sight to behold again.

A sudden gasp from the audience roused Jhin's attention to the stage again. The lead actor was wrestling with the villain, her movements frenzied as she attempted to stab at him with the false knife.

 _Poor form. She's not even holding it correctly. Was this choreographed by an ape?_

He supposed this was the climax, as the hero managed to overpower the actress, shoving her towards the suspect chair Jhin had noticed earlier. With a crack, generated somewhere offstage, the woman's head smashed against the wooden chair, and she slumped to the ground, supposedly unconscious. Panting dramatically, the man turned to face the audience, looking panicked. Really, it looked more like dull surprise, but Jhin supposed it was meant to be panic. The curtain began to close on the scene, and the audience stood to applaud. Before him, the theater filled with clapping and cheering, the low roar rising to a higher volume as more and more patrons got to their feet. The old minister was one of the last, struggling to stand as he slowly rose to his feet. Far above, the killer felt ecstasy build in his chest. This was his moment. It was time to show these buffoons what a real show looked like.

He raised the pistol and looked down the sights. The old man was clapping now, but slowly, as if each impact hurt his hands. What a frail creature. This was charity. He'd keel over soon enough anyway. Jhin would at least make a show of it. He smiled lightly to himself.

 _Perhaps they'll even send me roses._

Out of the corner of his eye, Jhin saw a large man begin to sit down. The ovation would end soon, and his window was closing. He focused, gave the monk a final glance, and squeezed the trigger.

The moment of the shot was pure bliss. For just an instant, Jhin could hear his own heart beating as Whisper emitted her usual hiss, the dull tone filling his ears like music. This was what he was meant for. This was his purpose.

His art.

The crack of gunfire was nearly completely muffled by the applause as a bullet shot forward, tearing through the air before passing through the monk's heart. With a last gasp, the wide-eyed elder fell forward, his body slumping onto the stage. Blood trickled onto the curtain. Some of the audience was still clapping, as they had not yet noticed. Jhin basked in the sound as he quickly holstered Whisper, reaching to his side to grasp the rope he had set up during the first act. Nimbly, the assassin climbed, still hidden by the curtain, as he rose towards the roof of the open air theater. The screaming had started as he pulled himself over the edge of the ceiling, stepping onto the rooftop. Allowing himself the luxury of a little vanity, Jhin turned around to watch the reactions to his performance. The crowd was in a panic, many of them still staring at the body. The monk's corpse was draped over the edge of the stage, the blood dyeing the blue curtain red. The contrast was sublime, and Jhin smiled yet again. Perfection. Just as he expected.

His ego satiated, the assassin opened the pack he had left on the roof, containing a small hangglider. Strapping it to his back, Jhin ran and leapt off of the theater balcony, cruising on the wind far from the site of his crime. They would never find him, but they would know it **was** him. Who else could put on such a fine show?

Later that evening, Jhin entered a small hut on the outskirts of an Ionian farmstead. It was a simple, traditionally styled home. The area got little traffic, but those who passed by considered it just a shed, or perhaps a barn. They never suspected that the farm was merely a front, carefully crafted by Jhin's employers. And they would certainly never realize that, inside, a ladder carried the Golden Demon to his lodgings, a sizable underground chamber.

Dropping into the seat before his desk, Khada Jhin retrieved Whisper from her holster. Gingerly, he opened a drawer and removed a bullet, carefully sliding it into the gun to make up for the one he had used on the monk. Another bullet was placed in the drawer, to make up for the missing one. Four perfect rows of four shells each. He couldn't be unorganized. As he wiped the barrel of the gun down, Jhin started to hum to himself. He noted with slight annoyance that it was the opening theme to the play.

 _Well, at least the orchestra has promise._

His focus was so intent on polishing Whisper that he did not notice the letter on his desk until time had passed, and the weapon was clean. How long it took, he was not sure. It was clean, and that was all that mattered. Of course, he so rarely got mail, so this would certainly be worth reading.

As he opened the letter, he ran his fingers across the material of the envelope. It was soft, almost like a velvet. As usual, the Kashuri Cabal spared no expense.

Even Khada Jhin knew little about his own employers. They were a splinter group in Ionian politics, regarded by many as an outlier. They planned to change that, by promoting fear in the hearts of the people, breaking the trust placed in the Kinkou Order and Grand Duchess Karma. They manufactured the finest weapons in Ionia, and seemed to be preparing for a new age of war. Beyond that, he did not know the details. Never had he seen the leader's face, and even when they arranged for his release from prison, they stayed at a reach, avoiding contact until they needed the Golden Demon. Admittedly, it was a bit vexing, knowing he was but a tool used to spread terror, like a loud gong in a silent room. But the quality of the performances their support provided was enough for Jhin to overlook that detail. He began to read the letter, his fingers lightly tapping on the desk in his other hand.

"Jhin,

Your presence will be required tomorrow evening. We have recently formulated a new assignment requiring your talents, and are willing to pay extra for your cooperation in this crucial matter.

Regards,

Elder Xia"

Interest piqued in Jhin's head as the tapping of his fingers quickened. Intriguing. Typically they simply delivered the details of the job. An actual summons hadn't been required in months. As Jhin pulled the mask off of his face, he left it on the desk, next to the letter, as he climbed into bed.

Perhaps this would be interesting.

The infuriatingly catchy tune continued to haunt his thoughts as he drifted to sleep. Sometimes, even lesser artists could prove influential. He could only imagine the world's reactions to his performances.

 _The critics will love me._


	2. Chapter 1: Overture

The squelching of mud beneath his boots nauseated Jhin. It wasn't the sound that bothered him, nor the grime he'd need to clean later. It was simply the...disorder of it all. The knowledge that he was leaving tracks, making extra marks, deforming the landscape with every step. Something about it simply felt...so uncivilized. Instead, he chose to focus on the task at hand.

The letter he had received contained no location for his meeting, and certainly no return address, but he understood the reasoning for such things. The interception of that letter, ties to...him, could damn the Kashuri. However, he already knew where he was meant to go. The only place they would ever meet him.

The setting sun cast a light across Jhin's cape as he approached the top of the verdant crag. The Xing Crater, a massive dip in the fields of southern Ionia, was surrounded by jagged cliffs just like it. Legend had it that the crater was formed when an ancient god crashed into Runeterra, leaving his mark in its form. Of course, that was nonsense. But the imagery was charming enough. As he continued his stroll, a small cabin came into view. This land was useless for farming, the uneven ground made certain of that, so the location was rarely visited. He hadn't even bothered wearing a disguise for this trip. He wanted his employer, whoever it was, to see him in all his finery.

 _Never underestimate the costume department. They can easily steal the show._

Now standing at the metal door of the cabin, Jhin rapped his knuckles on the door. There was no answer. The assassin gave a huff of indignation. Was all of the ceremony really so necessary? Reluctantly, he reached his slender figures into the pocket of his tunic, retrieving the envelope. Crouching, Jhin slid it under the doorframe. The instant he did so, the click of a lock was audible. Stretching back to his full height, Jhin strode into the cabin.

The inside was simple, your typical dull furnishings, gauche carpeting, and rustic wooden walls. This was a safehouse, after all, not some sort of hidden lair. He was sure the Kashuri had one of those, but he had never seen it. A woman was standing in front of him in a long indigo robe. She looked young, long black hair carefully pinned into a bun on her head. The only truly notable thing about her was her eyes. They were violet, sharp, and haunting.

Jhin remembered those eyes.

* * *

It had been a little over a year since his "escape" from Tuula Prison. In all honesty, he had simply walked out. His cell door was left unlocked, and only a single guard patrolled the hallway that lead to the exit. As the Virtuoso prepared to strike, the guard simply gave him a smile and pushed the door open.

"You have powerful friends, demon."

It was puzzling. He certainly didn't recall any friends.

As he took his first breaths of fresh air, out of the crushing walls once more, the woman who greeted him was one of the Kashuri elders. An old crone, with pockmarks and crow's feet, halfway hunched over a cane.

"Hello, Khada Jhin.", she had whispered. "I am…"

* * *

He quickly snapped back to the present, turning his masked gaze on the woman. "Elder Xia." Jhin muttered, extending a gloved hand. "You're looking quite well today."

Xia smirked and returned the hand, shaking his. "Excellent to see you, Khada Jhin."

Even the Virtuoso had to admit, he was impressed. This was clearly the same woman he had met a year ago...but nearly every aspect of her appearance had meticulously changed. It took even him hours of work to accomplish such a feat. It could have been magic, he had no talent for sensing such a thing, not that he needed it. To meet someone who he could consider a peer in one of his talents was...oddly refreshing.

 _I do hope I don't have to kill you. At least, not yet._

The elder gestured to a table, situated in the middle of the room. To Jhin's surprise, there was a man seated there. He was stone faced, lightly scarred, and thick, the classic image of an aged warrior, just slightly past his prime. No wonder Jhin hadn't noticed him, he was so very...dull.

Noting another open chair, the assassin made his way to the table and sat down. Arms folded, he looked the dull man over, until he spoke.

"Khada Jhin.", the man intoned, his voice deep and gravelly, "I do hope that your journey was a safe one."

Jhin curtly nodded. The pleasantries did little but annoy the Virtuoso.

The man seemed to pick up on this. "I suppose I should simply get to the point, then? My name is Sho Kashuri. My siblings and I run Kashuri Munitions, which, you may recall…" He pointed a hefty finger at Jhin's belt. "Created that pistol of yours. As well as, of course, funded your escape."

Well, this was more interesting. He was divulging too much information. Either he was lying, or he simply had no fear of reprisal. Jhin wasn't a fan of either option.

The assassin simply played along, giving a tilt of the head. "Your name is familiar to me, yes. To what do I owe the...pleasure?"

Sho smiled, a thoroughly unnerving sight. "Khada Jhin, we have prepared for you a stack of missions only someone of your caliber could accomplish. All around Valoran, there are people who threaten the interests of the Kashuri. Bribery has failed. Intimidation is useless. For this reason, we need the Golden Demon."

Elder Xia simply nodded, reaching into her robe's pockets to reveal a stack of papers. Jhin kept his eyes locked on the Kashuri, not that the man would notice, behind the mask, but his mind was racing. For years, he had been restricted to Ionia. The rest of the world was deprived of his work...a chance to change that would be something no artist worth their salt would pass up. His imagination flourished and flooded itself with images of all of Runeterra, gazing upon his greatest works.

 _International fame. A fitting reward for a genius._

Sho clenched his fist, the corners of his smile turning upwards. "We need to send a message, Jhin. Ionia, and all of Runeterra, must realize that they are not safe."

Leaning forward, Jhin gingerly took the documents from Xia, unfolding them before him as he spoke. "You do interest me, Kashuri. But there is always the matter of payment...I do not work for free."

With a chuckle, Sho leaned back in his chair. "You'll have all the money you could ever dream of. But I doubt that's what you want. I've paid your fee before, and half of the time you don't even bother to collect. You're an artist, aren't you? And we'll be providing you with the finest subjects, the most spectacular locales, and tools from the greatest armory in Runeterra."

Jhin sat silently, keeping his emotions unseen. The older man continued.

"I'm not paying an assassin for bodies, Jhin." Sho's eyes locked onto the hole in the Virtuoso's mask. "I'm paying a performer...to put on a show." Rapping his knuckles on the desk, Sho drew Jhin's attention to the assignments before him.

Words leapt out at the assassin as if they were springing off the pages. A Demacian ball? Bilgewater's merchant magnates? One of Grand General Swain's advisors? Already, he was having ideas, beautiful scenes filling his mind, illustrations of the perfect shot, the beautiful backdrops...the most immaculate deaths.

The masked man stood, gathering the papers, and reached a spindly, black-gloved hand across the table. As Sho shook it, Jhin gave a nod.

"I'll do it."

The Kashuri official grinned, and Xia aimed a small smirk in Jhin's direction. "Excellent!" Sho boomed, his thick hands making a loud bang as they collided with the wooden desk. "You'll be booked on a cruise to Demacia tomorrow...I believe Elder Xia has your paperwork in order?"

The woman presented Jhin with a passport, as well as several carefully manipulated bits of miscellania: ticket stubs, fake family heirlooms, and other such baubles, all tailored to prove that Khada Jhin was, in fact, a world traveler by the name of "Jayd Somall".

"Everything should be in order." Her voice was stern. "Be at the Opoi Dockyard tomorrow at midday. I will be in touch, Khada Jhin."

With means and results in hand, all Jhin had to devise would be the methods. As he said his farewells and exited the cabin, he permitted himself a private grin.

 _This will be my finest work._

* * *

The trek home had felt so much faster. Jhin was ecstatic as he began drafting elaborate scenarios. Of course, each job would have its own unique...challenges, but art was born from struggle, even for a master. He was in such a good mood, that when he removed his mask, he forgot where he was looking when he lifted his head.

In the mirror, a flawed face stared back.

No, no, no. This was for checking disguises, ensuring the fitting of masks and makeup. It was not to be used to see himself so unadorned!

His chin was off. His lip was the wrong shade. The virtuoso stared for a moment, taking in the scratches and scrapes the chafing mask made on his face. This was something no one could see.

He was so... _ugly._

With a roar of primal rage, Jhin brought up Whisper and fired, a bullet shattering the glass of the mirror. Glistening splinters filled the air, and the horrible reminder was gone. Once again, Khada Jhin was perfect.

As fury gave way to slight annoyance, Jhin yanked an errant bit of glass from his arm, leaving a small gash and a scarlet trickle from his right wrist. That would simply be something he'd need to fix in the morning, before he left for the shipyard.

Taking a seat at his desk, Jhin brushed the remaining shards aside. He retrieved a cloth and bullet from his desk, and set about maintaining his sidearm.

One...two...three...four…


	3. Chapter 2: Brushstrokes

Leaning against the balcony of the ship's deck, eyes focused on the waves, Khada Jhin couldn't feel an inkling of interest or inspiration. And that bothered him.

So many artists adored the sea. From art to music, every genre of merit contained some sort of simpering ode to the ocean. But Jhin simply didn't understand. What about this great puddle of muck was so interesting? Was he meant to be impressed by fluids? If so, he could just go home and stare at a bucket.

Slightly annoyed, Jhin turned away, careful to move his feet clumsily, without rhythm. He was, after all, undercover, and no one could suspect his true identity. For now, thanks to a few hours of comprehensive cosmetic work, the assassin had darker skin, a small scar on his cheek, and much longer hair. Really, rather simplistic work, but flaunting his ability too much would simply draw undue attention.

He felt an odd sense of satisfaction in watching the fellow passengers aboard the ship simply walk past him, not batting an eye. Not a one of them had a clue he was among them, a testament to his skill. Oh, what a show it would be if they were to learn, to have it revealed to them that Khada Jhin himself walked among them. Still, he could not afford to blow his cover. Instead, he would simply show off a little, whilst gathering information. Surveying the deck of the ship, he took in his surroundings.

The cruise was, by all standards, fairly luxurious. There were chefs preparing meals in the center of the deck, with white clothed waiters bustling plates between a crowd of tables. A woman in the corner was crosslegged on a stool, playing a violin, with some small degree of competence. The various seats dotting the upper deck were filled with diners, all some degree of rich, clearly, judging by the jewelry and opulent silks they draped themselves in. Such was the tableau laid before him, and Khada Jhin began to critique. In the second closest row of tables, a man sat drinking alone, wearing a bright blue suit, trimmed with golden sleeves. Demacian colors. That was his greatest chance.

Summoning all his social graces, Jhin walked, plainly, across the wooden deckboards. Sliding into the chair across from the Demacian man, he gave a wave.

"Afternoon, stranger!"

A different voice, a different cadence. He was sparing no expense with his deception.

The Demacian gave a welcoming nod. Good, the man was friendly, or at least pretending to be so. That would make it easier to get information from him. "Why, hello there!"

Jhin gave a chuckle as he shook the rich man's hand. "Jayd Somall, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The Demacian returned the gesture, his grin widening. "Alfonse Silvergleam."

 _Ugh. Even Demacian names were so ridiculous. What an obnoxious society._

Jhin's eyes wandered to the other man's pouch, resting on the table. A magnifying glass, as well as a small pair of tongs, were resting within it. The tools of a jeweler.

Alfonse chuckled, a sound Jhin found utterly loathsome. "Do you have any interest in fine jewelry, Mister Somall?"

Jhin smiled and nodded. "I do like to collect mementos from my journeys."

The Demacian reached into the pocket of his suit, retrieving a rather extravagant brooch, made of glimmering Demacian sunsteel, surrounding a crimson ruby. Even Jhin had to admit, this was acceptable work.

"I didn't manage to sell this piece on the island, apparently the buyer reconsidered. So…" His smile was almost predatory. "If you'd like it for, say, 1000 Gold?"

Overpriced. Jhin had done enough costuming work to know that such a piece would go, at most, for 800. Still, right now, the goal was information gathering, and Sho Kashuri had permitted him a hefty allowance to complete his task…

"Why, that's quite a deal!" Jhin exclaimed, lying through his teeth. "I think we're in business, Mr. Silvergleam!

From his pockets, Jhin retrieved a silk pouch of gold, counting out ten small packs of 100 pieces and sliding them across the table to Alfonse. With an expression eerily similar to that of a shark, Silvergleam took the money, and handed Jhin the broach. The assassin slipped it into his pocket. Perhaps it might be a nice piece for a disguise someday.

More importantly, the sheer joy with which the Demacian salesman counted his newfound profits made him look very pleased. And people in good moods did tend to be more forthcoming. It was time to strike.

"So." Jhin leaned back in his chair, letting the sun of the open sea warm his skin, "Are you familiar with a...Baron Lumicar?" In the back of his mind, he was recounting Xia's notes on the target.

* * *

 **"Lucius Lumicar is a minor Demacian noble, with a cousin marrying into the Lightshield family. He owns a series of vineyards on the border, near Noxian land. Due to the proximity of his assets to the Noxian military forces, they would likely fall quickly in an invasion. It is likely that this is why he is an outspoken proponent of peace between the two nations.**

 **Rumor has it that he seeks to expand his operations, and has mostly done so through sheer luck, given the deaths of neighboring land barons, and his swift purchase of their territory. Nearly all of them met with suspicious ends. Your mark may be more dangerous than you would expect.**

 **In four days, he will host a ball at his manor, to celebrate the new acquisitions he has made. Many of Demacia's social elite have been invited, and a cover will be provided for you. Getting inside should prove little challenge.**

 **He is aged 45 years, has light skin, blonde hair, and has been marked for death by forces he will never comprehend.**

 **Good hunting,**  
 **Elder Xia"**

* * *

"Oh, the wine fellow?" Alfonse's curious response pulled Jhin back to reality. "I've sold his wife a few pieces, actually. What about him?"

"I heard a few passengers aboard the ship mention a party...is he a popular man?"

That was a lie. No one on board had mentioned Lumicar, but it served as an efficient lead-in.

"Oh, another ball, is it?" With a laugh, Alfonse downed a sip of some sweetened beverage he had placed on the table. "I suppose you could say he's quite the party host, yes. Tends to invite loads of nobles for his little celebrations, and I can tell you one thing...last time I was there, I made a killing."

 _Hmm. That was exactly what he wanted to do, actually._

Smiling again, Alfonse leaned in close, speaking quieter to Jhin. "Lumicar's a drunk. He uses most of his casks at his own parties, loves to make a big show of hand picking the drinks for the evening. By the time the orchestra begins to play, half the crowd is plastered. Drunk rich people? Love to buy jewelry. Just a tip."

Jhin chuckled. "I see. Sounds like my kind of party."

Alfonse roared with laughter. Jhin wondered if it wasn't a bit hypocritical to be calling Lumicar the drunk, considering how tipsy the jeweler seemed after just a glass of...whatever that offensively neon concoction was on the table. "Well, Somall, I hope wherever your travels take you, you drink well!"

With a smile, Jhin stood up. "Well, thank you. A pleasure to meet you, Mister Silvergleam. And thank you for the broach."

This was Jhin's least favorite part of the job. At least, however, he had learned something. The more preparations he could make, the more beautiful his artwork would be. And Lumicar sounded like a fine subject.

* * *

The remainder of the journey proved uneventful. Jhin spent most of it in his cabin, hunched over a notepad, jotting down ideas. He hated deadlines, but they were a necessity of the job. The journey took merely two days, so that when the ship arrived in the Demacian port, it was already the morning of Lumicar's ball. The streets of Demacia were garishly lit, reflective metals bouncing light off of every possible surface, and directly into the eyes of Khada Jhin, a sensation he found most displeasing.

 _If only they wanted me to shoot the architect…_

Maybe when he had more free time. Finding his hotel was easy enough, Demacia had rather strict laws on tourism, so the lodgings were often placed fairly close to military barracks. For all the shine they put on, Jhin could see fear etched into the very city itself. It would simply be his job to draw it out.

His room, which had, of course, already been paid for, was located a few flights of stairs up, on the fourth floor. Jhin carefully watched for supply closets and fire escapes as he journeyed to his lodgings. It was unlikely anyone would track him back to the hotel after the deed was done, but paranoia had saved the Virtuoso more than once.

The room itself was plain, but not offensively so. The golden fringes on the curtains did a fair bit to improve the composition. Momentarily, Jhin chided himself for taking the time to search. This was simply a safehouse, a changing room. Not the stage. Still, what was life without appreciating the finer things? Tuula Prison, now that he thought about it.

* * *

Khada Jhin, was unmasked, unarmed, and vulnerable. Still, this was a better day than was typical at the prison. A guard stood behind him, eyes lingering on the paintbrush clutched in his right hand. Honestly?

"You don't need to worry." Jhin muttered, smiling at the larger man. "Not even I could hurt someone with one of these."

Though it was somewhat nervous, the guard chuckled. He didn't need to know that Jhin, almost certainly, could. But he didn't want to. What would killing any of these guards do for him? If his life was to be white walls and drab uniforms, he would at least be sure that the walls were exquisitely painted.

Which was why he had volunteered to take the guard's painting duty for the day. It wasn't altruistic, he did not care about the man, or even know his name. But he knew his brushstrokes. Uneven, often crossing where they should not. It was something that gnawed at his mind as he gazed at the stone slabs that seemed to compose his existence. In his mind, Jhin was working, creating a beautiful landscape. The beautiful mountaintops of the Ionian countryside, snowcapped and crisp against a deep blue sky. It was perfect.

Of course, in reality, it was simply a white wall. But, Jhin had wondered, and often, what really mattered? What the others could see? Or what he saw?

And could he make them see it?

* * *

There was a familiar envelope on his pillow. Jhin slowly stalked closer to it, wary of traps. But, there were none. It was simply the same sort of note he had seen at his home in Ionia. Slicing the envelope open with his fingernails, Jhin scanned the note that tumbled out.

 **"Clothes are in the closet. Your name is Manfred Silkshroud, and you are one of the finest wine tasters in Demacia. The party begins at sundown, at the manor you should be able to see from your window. Do not be late, and leave fashionably early.**

 **-Xia"**

Well, that was intriguing. As Jhin worked his way across the room, he eyed the dark wooden doors of the closet in the corner. Again, he was careful, one hand resting gently on Whisper, tucked hidden away in a secret pocket of his jacket, as he carefully opened them.

Inside was no assassin, no bomb, simply a set of fine Demacian robes, a wig and a diverse kit of various body paints, makeup, dies, and other tools. With a smile, Jhin gathered the materials in his arms, striding into the bathroom.

As Jhin washed Jayd Somall away, he watched his previous work swirl down the drain. A shame. But as the Virtuoso reached into his toolkit, he gripped a small brush and felt a surge of joy and tension.

It was time to craft a new masterpiece.


	4. Chapter 3: A Toast

The party at Luminarc Manor was already in full swing by the time the cloaked man exited his carriage. Smiling, he pressed a coin into the driver's palm, and looked out over the manor's courtyard. A line of magical torches lit the path to the great cobblestone mansion's front door, casting a rainbow of colors over statues and servants, bustling to guide guests into the house.

With a slight hobble, the cloaked man began to walk across the cobblestone. A woman in a black servant's uniform approached him quickly.

"Good evening. May I ask your name, sir?"

With a small shake of the head, the hood of the cloak tumbled over his shoulders, revealing tufts of gray hair and a wrinkled smile. "Manfred Silkshroud."

The young woman pored over a small sheet clasped tightly in her hands. "Ah...welcome, Mister Silkshroud. You are quite welcome inside, Master Luminarc has been waiting for your arrival."

The old man grinned and followed the servant's brisk footsteps, limping along as quickly as he could. "I hear the Baron's vintages are simply to die for."

 _Ugh. That joke was beneath me._

Jhin couldn't resist, however. He wondered, as he followed the woman, who was smiling lightly, would she remember that, when the night was over? Would she think back on it and wonder if she had known all along what was to come? Doubt, confusion, regret...fantastic motivators for art. But he couldn't ponder that for long. He had work to do.

As they entered the manor proper, Jhin cast his eyes around the foyer. A large set of double doors were propped open, leading to a magnificent banquet table. The sides of the room were adorned with marble staircases, covered in various mingling Demacian nobles. Out of the corner of his eye, Jhin could recognize a few of them. The dark bangs and red highlights of Fiora Laurent, for example, would stand out anywhere. What horrible fashion sense. Still, he had no time to let her know that. The servant was still motioning for him to follow.

Slightly annoyed, Jhin continued his false limp, chasing the servant. Demacians. Always so rigid. Passing into the banquet hall, he noted the flickering torches that illuminated the entrance. The walls seemed lined with guards. Evidently, Luminarc either wanted to make an impression, or he really was fearful for his life. It was of little importance to Jhin. It simply restricted his options a bit. But, restriction was the father of creativity. At the head of the long, thin table in the center of the room, the man with the gaudiest outfit Jhin had perhaps ever seen was sitting, one hand clenching the stem of a wine glass. He took a sip, the bottom of the decanter ruffling the obscene amount of frills on his collar. This had to be Baron Lumicar.

"Sir?"

As the servant tried to get her master's attention, Jhin scouted the room. The banquet hall, it seemed, was far more than simply the middle table. A small army of servants bussed trays and glasses around the room, which seemed packed to the brim, as large as it was, even, with guests. Jhin frowned. This was a perfect audience, but were he to kill the Baron in full view of them, he doubted that even he could make a successful exit. If possible, he would avoid dropping his cover. So, for now, he would wait. It seemed he had little choice anyway, because the servant was approaching again, beckoning him forward.

"He will see you now."

Putting his facade of friendliness back up, Jhin hobbled to the head of the table, straining his vocal cords to rasp like a man his "age". "Greetings, Sir Lumicar."

"A pleasure to meet you." The baron's voice was smooth and deep, and he gave Jhin a crooked smile. "I've heard about you, they say you're difficult to impress, Mister Silkshroud."

They'd heard of him? Hmm. Perhaps someone in the Kashuri cabal was spreading rumors. How long had they been planning this?

Jhin chuckled. "I simply enjoy the finer things, Baron."

"Well! Sounds like a challenge to me!" Lumicar was grinning widely. "Go enjoy yourself, my honored guest! And soon, I will dazzle you!"

With that, the Baron returned to speaking with his wife, and Jhin found himself with a world of options. The manor would be his canvas, and the baron his subject, but he was woefully lacking in tools. He dared not bring Whisper, in case the guards would frisk him. Instead, he would have to improvise, but he welcomed the opportunity. Perhaps, then, a survey of the setting would inspire him.

* * *

Exiting the dining hall, Jhin hobbled through the foyer again, keeping his disguise in mind as he worked his way through the crowds. A few "Pardon me"'s and clearings of the throat were enough to scatter the rabble before him, as it was rather impolite to stand in the way of an old man. Now at the top of the steps, Jhin gazed around the mansion's entryway. His eyes caught on the opulent glass chandelier that hung from the ceiling, illuminating the faces of the guests below. However, it was the contrast that truly piqued the assassin's attention. The adjacent hallways at the top of the steps were shrouded in shadow, the sconces that were meant to illuminate them staying unlit. It sent a rather clear, if polite, message. The party was not meant to extend into the upstairs rooms.

 _Perhaps the time has come to abandon common courtesy. It's a bit played out._

Jhin stood still, waiting. Absentmindedly glancing about. Simply trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It would not do to have excess eyes on him while he worked. In an instant, once he saw the attentions of the crowd focused elsewhere, he moved. In an instant, making a move the elderly and frail Manfred Silkshroud should never have been able to accomplish, Jhin leapt, ducking behind the frame of the door. He flattened himself against the wall, gently, trying to remain silent. A few seconds passed, and there was nothing. Good. He had not been noticed. Staying plastered to the wall, Jhin took measured steps, lightly sidling with calculated footsteps. Through the wrinkled, flesh colored gloves he had donned, he felt his way along the wall, daring not to turn and look directly.

Lightly rough, cold. Marble. Such was the texture for the first several steps. Suddenly, smooth, almost warm. This had to be wood. A slight incline of the head confirmed his suspicions, and the Virtuoso began to fish around for a doorknob. The smack of iron was a welcome feeling, and Jhin slowly turned it, dipping into the dark chamber behind him, shutting the door again as he went. It was dark inside, just as in the hallway. Still, moonlight from the courtyard shone through a window, so he was able to maintain slight vision. The room itself seemed fairly straightforward. A luxurious down bed sat in the center, flanked by two wardrobes. One was slightly ajar, giving Jhin a chance to confirm that indeed, Lumicar's fashion sense was just as terrible as his current travesty downstairs would indicate. A few odds and ends lay scattered in the corners of the bedroom, mostly statuettes and paintings, with a few awards for the vineyards. It was a nice shrine to the man's own ego.

 _Real geniuses don't need reminders._

Perhaps most interesting, however, was the large desk set into the side of the room. It was full of bottles, some empty, some partially filled, others corked and complete. Perhaps this was where the Baron had his daily drinks? Still, as Jhin approached, he noted the racks of small jars on shelves that flanked the desk, containing a variety of ingredients, from mundane spices to some strange Zaunite flavor-chems. Suddenly, the variety of bottles made sense. The baron seemed to enjoy testing flavorings and spices in his drinks. Begrudgingly, Jhin had to admire the creativity. What caught his eye next, however, was an even greater surprise.

There was a small jar marked as "Duskpetal Seeds". Jhin knew of the flower, it was native to Ionia, and one he had a particular fondness for. However, these were not Duskpetal Seeds. The shapes were off. Instead, these had to belong to its sister plant, the Blue Death Flower. The name was trite, but there was a reason. These flowers, and their seeds, were intensely poisonous. So why keep them around? As Jhin continued to investigate the jars, he noted several more inconsistencies. Several of the ingredients were not what they claimed to be, and were, in some cases, capable of inducing sickness, poisoning, or outright death, in a variety of ways. Jhin had some experience with a few of them. Surely the Baron was not this incompetent.

Suddenly, a memory of Xia's letter hit him.

"Rumor has it that he seeks to expand his operations, and has mostly done so through sheer luck, given the deaths of neighboring land barons, and his swift purchase of their territory. Nearly all of them met with suspicious ends."

A smile curled across the killer's face. Of course! How simple. Lumicar could simply poison his rivals with his own drinks. And, to an untrained eye, this looked like no poisoner's nook, but a simple cabinet of flavorings. The plan was flawed, small in scope, and not at all glamorous, but Jhin had to admit, the ruthlessness of the Demacian noble was a pleasant surprise. He began to inspect the other jars in detail as a tableau of possible works flashed in his mind.

Lumicar, slumped over his grand table, slain by a poison of his own design. It would be simple, child's play, really, to swipe one of the bottles meant for the baron and add his own touches. But that was the problem.

Too simple.

He had promised Kashuri art, not simple killings. For that, he needed substance, he needed flash! He needed...this.

The jar in his hands was labelled "Bilgewater Black Pepper". That was a lie. Jhin had no difficulty identifying the substance, as it was one he particularly enjoyed. This was a weapon of Piltovian design. A type of gunpowder, that produced small, but incredibly powerful, explosions. Substance 34, he had always heard it called. And it was packed into each of his beloved Dancing Grenades, a personal favorite in his toolkit. Clutching the jar, Jhin chuckled. It seemed poison was not the only tool at the Baron's disposal. And thus, it was added to his palette as well. A smaller door to the side of the desk caught Jhin's attention. This might be interesting. Opening it, Jhin found a passage of stairs leading downwards. Curiously, the bottom seemed to be lit. Carefully, Jhin descended.

A wine cellar. He honestly wasn't sure what else he had expected. The walls of the room were lined with casks, labelled with years and titles of the Baron's most beloved products. Many of them remained untapped, although a small pile of taps sat in the corner. Amidst the flickering light of torches on the walls, inspiration struck.

He knew how the Baron would die.

* * *

Almost entranced in his idea, Jhin began to quietly hum as he went to work. First, he found a small cask. Tiny, really. But that would help. Reaching inside, he took it out, and carried the wooden container into the corner of the room. Retrieving one of the taps, he drove a small hole into the top of the cask, and turned it upside down. A rather delightful aroma filled the room as the cask emptied, some sort of fruit wine pouring into a small puddle in the corner, out of sight. A waste, really. But a necessary sacrifice.

Once the cask had completed disposing of its previous contents, he flipped it upside down again, and, with a steady hand, poured the jar of Substance 34 inside. Soon, the cask was partially filled with the explosive. Carefully, he replaced the cask on the wall, and checked his work. From the front, and due to the barrels above it, the hole in the top was invisible, and the front end of the container was, as expected, untouched. The stage was set, and it was time to start the show.

* * *

Jhin worked his way backwards, closing the door to the cellar, climbing the stairs, exiting the bedroom, and melding his way back into the party in the foyer as stealthily as he had the first time. Once again, he was the doddering old wine taster, Manfred Silkshroud. And as the bell announcing dinner rang, he was pleased. Soon his plan would be put into action.

Eating was...difficult with so much makeup on. There was always the risk of a bit of your face coming off on a glass, or a fork. Thankfully, Jhin was, as always, a professional. He dined happily with the other guests, utterly uninterested in their dull small-talk of affairs of state and courtly rumors. The pounding in his chest, anticipating the performance, kept him satiated. Finally, the wines were poured. Baron Lumicar looked directly at Jhin as a servant prepared his glass.

"This is one of our finest spiced wines. Casked ten years ago, at the opening of our Kalamanda vineyard. Thankfully retrieved before all that unpleasantness with the war…" The Baron bowed slightly. "Enjoy."

Smiling, and returning the gesture, Jhin took a sip. He did enjoy it. The flavor was full, without being overpowering, and the aftertaste was somewhere between sweet and bitter that left him wanting more.

Of course, this could not be what he told Lumicar. As an artist, he knew one thing very clearly. There would always be dissidents. Uncultured fools who hated your work, who devoted all of their meager time to denouncing it. That, he was used to. The greatest insult, to an artist, was mediocrity.

So he simply shrugged.

"Acceptable."

It was a struggle to conceal the grin forming on his face as he saw the Baron's eye twitch in annoyance. He could see, although it was disguised beneath a veil of Demacian civility, the emotions slowly flash across Lumicar's face. Shock. Disappointment. Rage.

A painfully false chuckle escaped Lumicar's lips. "Oh, I see. Your standards are as exacting as advertised!"

Nodding, "Manfred" shrugged once again. "Perhaps if you had another drink available? This shows promise, but…" A little bit of Jhin bled through as he smiled. "I'd hate to judge an artist on only one of their works."

The Baron took the bait, and stood up, perhaps with a tad more angered enthusiasm than he had intended. "Well then, Mister Silkshroud...may I show you my collection? The cellar is quite full at the moment, and I would love to provide you with some finer samples."

His wife gave him a look, but the man was not to be deterred. Clearly, ego was forcing Baron Lumicar to make a mistake. It would be his last.

"I accept your gracious invitation."

Lumicar had lead them through a small side hallway in the back of the dining hall. It was clear that hosting the party was the furthest thing from his mind right now. The way he wrenched open the door to the cellar was almost violent. Jhin followed, still keeping up the illusory limp, and they made their way to the center of the chamber. Jhin eyed the second staircase near the corner. That had to be the one he had descended earlier, which lead to the bedroom. He kept close to that side as the Baron spoke.

"Take your pick, good sir!" he said, proudly spreading his arms. "Anything from my collection, you are welcome to sample with me."

After putting up a brief mimicry of browsing the containers, ignoring the babbling of useless factoids the Baron was giving him about each brew, Jhin pointed to the choice he had long known he desired.

"Is that a vintage from Brightmeadow? I've heard such good things about that region."

With a smile, the Baron clapped and nodded. "Excellent! I will prepare us a pair of glasses!" From a crate near the corner of the room, Lumicar retrieved the glassware. It was all Jhin could do to conceal his heart pumping. He gave a respectful bow.

"After you, gracious host."

Jhin reached for a tap and handed it to his target, with all the zeal of plunging a blade into his heart. Lumicar took it and began to walk towards the tainted cask. Jhin mimicked his footsteps, slowly backing towards the steps. This was the moment of truth.

The Baron tapped the cask.

Black powder poured from the tap, scattering into the glass at first, but falling onto the floor, and the baron, as he pulled his arm away in surprise. To Jhin's pleasant notice, the stickiness of the remaining wine seemed to remain on the powder, leaving some of it to cling to the target's clothes.

"What in the world?" As the Baron cast a frenzied glance upwards, he saw Manfred, at the top of the stairs, removing his wig, a torch clutched in his hand.

"To your health."

With a flourish, Jhin tossed the torch he had lifted from the wall. Time seemed to slow as it flew through the air, the flickering flames casting a spotlight on the fear-wrenched face of Baron Lumicar, as he realized too late that this was his final ball.

It collided with the Baron, and in a burst of light and sound, there was an explosion. Casks burst, wood splintered, and blood mixed with wine in a scarlet paint that splattered the remains of the room, and the Baron.

As much as Jhin wished to admire his work, the screams from above reminded him that he had to move quickly. Removing a few more articles of clothing, the assassin stripped to his underclothes, tossing the remnants of Manfred Silkshroud into the inferno below. For the moment, at least, it would appear Manfred had perished in the blaze. They would surely realize eventually, but he would hopefully be out of Demacia by then. It was another disguise that had served him well, but as he heard approaching footsteps on the other side of the room, atop the other entrance, there was no time for mourning. Jhin ducked into Lumicar's bedroom, gingerly shutting the door behind him, and gazed sadly at the open wardrobe.

 _This is a fate worse than his._

Swallowing his pride, and taste, Jhin clothed himself in some of the Baron's old garments, and glanced out the window. There were no guards in the backyard. Likely they had all rushed inside to investigate the explosion. He sprang out the window and climbed down the wall, using the cobblestone of the mansion walls as footholds. With a final leap, he dashed out of the yard, looking to anyone else like just another civilian fleeing the blaze.

Adrenaline poured through Jhin's veins as he ran, back towards the main roads. Perhaps he would even be the one to report the blaze to the authorities. That would be a thrill. But, above all, one thing danced through Jhin's mind, elating and tantalizing the Virtuoso.

 _This is only my opening scene._


	5. Chapter 4: Forte

Khada Jhin looked out over the flatlands that surrounded Piltover. There was something almost charming in the barren nature of it all. Behind him lay a noisy city, a hideaway for scholars to play at ideas they would never understand, trying to grasp the ethereal with withered paws. But something about the desert was...soothing, in a way. He did not seek to explain it. Only to appreciate its beauty before he began his next assignment.

The flight from Demacia had gone off without a hitch. By the time Jhin had returned to his hotel, news of the attack had already spread to the capital. It was a remarkably amusing sight, the prim and proper Demacians quaking in their boots over such a bold assassination so close to the capital. As usual, he took some time to listen to the local rumor mill. Most of them blamed Noxian spies, which was little surprise. A few hushed tones had whispered in his ear that they suspected foul play, perhaps from Fiora Laurent, troublemaker as she was. Jhin found that equal parts amusing and insulting. However, his favorite rumor by far was one passed from the lips of Ionian traders in the city. They spoke of a Golden Demon. And he did so adore the spotlight.

The hotel room had housed two items of note, ones that had not been there when he departed for Lumicar's manor. One was, much to Jhin's relief, a set of traveler's clothes. Simple, bland, but far better than Lumicar's stolen wardrobe, which he had burned (and taken unusual pleasure in doing so). The other, piquing his interest, was a new letter, still in a velvety envelope. The handwriting was once again familiar.

* * *

" _Congratulations on completing your first assignment. We of the Kashuri Elders are pleased with your progress. However, your work has only just begun. Beneath this letter, you will find tickets for a caravan to Piltover. Dress for the weather. Once there, we would like you to pay a visit to Jack Matte._

Mr. Matte is a robotics expert in the city-state of Piltover. He holds numerous degrees from the local university, and he is currently putting the finishing touches on a new line of peacekeeping robots. He claims that, if successfully produced, these incorruptible, unpaid, perfectly regulated machines may cut down on the need for police entirely.

 _These creations cannot be allowed to see completion. Piltover's Southwest Industrial District houses "New Age Creations", Matte's personal factory. It is guarded by a small security force, as well as some of the prototypes for the peacekeepers. Infiltrate the facility, destroy the schematics for the robots, and eliminate Mr. Matte. Time is of the essence._

Tread carefully,  
Elder Xia."

* * *

Fairly straightforward instructions. No classy dinners or fine beverages this time around, but the change of pace excited the assassin. He took a moment to simply sense the feeling of his typical costume on his body, the tight material nearly throttling every part of him. It was uncomfortable, at first, but now it simply made him aware. Conscious of every single move he made, an indispensable skill for a hired killer. Rising from his viewpoint, Jhin turned back towards Piltover. A metal sign burned with tubes of light, spelling the words "New Age Creations' in the night sky.

He had spent a day watching the building. A staff of ten men and women had entered at around 9:00 AM, and departed between 6:00 and 7:00. It was now midnight, and Jhin could still see a light on in the factory's highest window. Someone was still inside, and all signs pointed to it being Jack. Strangely enough, Jhin had never seen the man actually enter. Perhaps Mr. Matte was a robot himself? That would be interesting, he'd never killed a cyborg before.

 _Maybe they have colors aside from red in them. I hate overusing it._

The assassin's mechanical fantasies were let down harshly as he climbed the chain link fence at the southeast entrance to the factory and noticed that the compound seemed to also contain a house. Likely where Jack slept. Not a cyborg, simply addicted to his work. How boring.

Landing nimbly on the soles of his boots, Jhin surveyed the area. The approach to the factory building's front door seemed clear, but he wasn't going to take any chances. He crouched low and slunk along the sandy ground, eyeing the earth in front of him for any sorts of sensors, or worse, mines. As his eyes scanned forward, his ears covered his back, as he listened intently for the sounds of anything resembling footsteps. A difficult task, given the frequent crashing noises and incessant mechanical dronings of Piltover's Industrial District, but somewhere in the chaos lay the harmony of silence, and it was that he focused on. In the end, however, it turned out to be unnecessary, as he had crossed the distance from the wall to the door without any trouble. Jhin quietly opened the doors and hoped for something a little more interesting inside.

He got his wish.

* * *

While the outside of New Age Creations was mostly a barren, dull wasteland, the inside was a madcap swirl of motion and light. A series of catwalks overlooked a massive factory floor, where Jhin currently found himself staring in awe of the machinery before him. Long lines of conveyor belts carried metal through molding machines, into fitting stations, across a line of scanners...and further on a twisting journey through devices Jhin could not even comprehend. All that was clear was the end result, about every thirty seconds, a new robot part would clatter off of the line and into a collection bin to his right. It made sense that Matte hadn't bothered hiring workers for anything but security, these machines practically made themselves.

Still, he could afford no distractions. Moving to the staccato symphony of gears and chains, Jhin climbed onto the catwalk, and noticed his greatest problem. A chamber labeled "R&D" sat at the other end of the room. From its position, Jhin could conclude that this had to be the room with the lit window he had noticed earlier. However, between him and his destination was a patrol of mechanical guards.

They moved in perfectly timed patrols, slowly aiming hextech pistols around the room. They were humanoid, but with cylindrical heads and red sensors for eyes. These must have been the prototypes Xia mentioned. Their choreographed surveying was almost like a dance, and Jhin found himself analyzing the steps. They crossed at crucial junctures, covered eachother's backs, and worked in perfect synchronization.

In other words, stealth would be impossible. Jhin found himself unexpectedly grinning under the mask, the sheer act of doing so morphing and twisting the tight latex that covered his face. It had been far too long since he'd had a shootout.

The first robot was dispatched with a clean shot to the head. Whisper hissed pleasingly, and Jhin curled his body to duck under the barrage of bullets from the smoldering husk's patrol partner. With his free hand, Jhin tossed a grenade into his attacker, the resulting explosion sending bits of debris clattering down from the catwalk. Chunks of metal were caught in the elaborate machinery below, and the static soundtrack of the assembly line became an erratic, discordant number. Jhin followed the rythym below, jerking hard left to avoid a swing from a prototype that had rushed him, a large metal baton welded to its clawed hand. He responded with a strike of his own, lashing a leg out to knock the machine off balance, sending it crashing into a metal stamper below. The percussion of the remnants being crushed provided the perfect beat to raise Whisper again. Two more shots dispatched of another guard, catching it twice in the midsection. Making long strides, Jhin advanced on the final pair of robots, both of whom were beginning to open fire. They seemed to react to motion. With another painful grin, Jhin ducked behind a metal partition and lobbed a grenade high in the air. Both prototypes trained their guns on it, and were completely unprepared for the second grenade toss, which landed directly in the middle of them. The explosion rocked the catwalk one final time, but the platform remained stable.

Nothing was left between him and his target. Jhin took great pleasure as he emerged from behind the partition, basking in the glow of a successful battle.

He did not expect a bullet to pass mere inches from his head. Across from him stood a man in a lab coat, his hand shaking madly. "Who…"

"Jack Matte?"

Jhin's heart was pounding unusually quickly, but he remained focus. The flash of recognition in the man's eyes was all the Golden Demon needed to know that this was his target.

Whisper's last shot was always the sweetest song, and this was no exception. As the bullet ripped through the inventor's chest, and the man fell backwards onto the catwalk, lifeless, Jhin felt that familiar bliss of a fourth perfect shot.

But the moment passed quicker than usual. The pleasing atmosphere of a job well done was ruined by the incessant pounding in his chest. Khada Jhin thought back on the last time he was afraid.

* * *

It had been a normal evening at the Zhyun Theater. A young Khada Jhin had just finished setting up the props for the night's performance. It was the day of the Blossom Festival, and the guests would be expecting their best. Unbeknownst to the rest of the crew, the stagehand was preparing for a show of his own. He had spent the past few days planning his next killing. A local banker who often came to see the evening shows. He would simply follow him home and cut him to pieces. Nothing too extravagant, but enough to keep the public interested until his next great performance.

Three guests entered the back room of the theater where Jhin was unpacking a few additional pieces. Spare false weapons, makeups, that sort of thing.

"Khada Jhin?" The voice felt somehow familiar.

"Yes, sir?" Jhin had turned to look at his visitors, and felt a sharp pain in his leg as something cut through it. With a scream, he collapsed to the floor. Blood trickled from his leg, and a crimson stained shuriken lay embedded in the wooden paneling.

"Zed!"

The largest man, with a head of long, white hair, was glaring at the brunette man on his right. Zed seemed young, muscular, and angry.

"I had to subdue him, Master Kusho! He could have fled!"

Jhin's heart sank at the name. Kusho. The Kinkou dispatched to investigate the murders in the province. No. It couldn't be.

"The police have the perimeter covered." The man on Kusho's left was speaking now. He shared similar features to the Master, but his eyes had a distinct dullness to them, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. "The Golden Demon will not escape."

Bile rose in his throat as Jhin's world spun. They had found him. They had figured him out. No, it was impossible, it could not end this way! He wasn't ready, there was so much left to do! The pain of the gushing wound in his leg caused Jhin to scream once more, sinking into a ball on the floor.

An undignified end.

"Shen, there will be no need for the guards." Jhin could recognize Zed's voice again, as well as the metallic clattering of a blade being unsheathed. "I will kill him myself." Struggling, Jhin lifted his head and stared at the young ninja with tearful eyes. He would at least ensure that his killer remembered his last moments.

"Enough!" A gauntlet barred Zed's path forward as Kusho stepped forth, barking at his student. "That is not your decision."

"Master!" An infuriated Zed was shaking now. "After all he has done...you cannot be considering allowing him to live?"

The quiet ninja, Shen, spoke again. "I agree with Zed, father. He is a threat to the balance."

Kusho addressed neither of them, leaning down to speak to Jhin instead. "Khada Jhin." The master's voice was infuriatingly calm. "Are you the one they call the "Golden Demon"?"

Jhin screamed again, emotion and pain overflowing within him, but he nodded.

"I have seen what you have done. Your killings were like those of a beast. I must know, Khada Jhin. Why would you do this?"

Weakly, Jhin forced an answer. "I...have made them see what they have been ignoring. I give you all the beauty of...death."

An unsettling roar of anger came from Zed, and the ninja stomped out of the room. Somewhat hesitantly, Shen followed. Kusho continued to look into Jhin's eyes, the Kinkou's face looking like that of a man twenty years older. "You find this...beautiful?"

Jhin blinked. "You do not?"

Silence filled the room. Somewhat roughly, Kusho dragged Jhin to his feet and wrapped one of the assassin's arms around his shoulder. "You will spend the rest of your life locked away, Khada Jhin. I hope that this was worth it."

The simpering tone, the attempts at empathy, the way the old man seemed to mock him...Jhin had never felt more insulted. And he had never been more disappointed than when he learned that Kusho was already dead upon his escape from Tuula.

He would have given the fool the most beautiful death of all.

* * *

Still, the past was the past, and for now, he had work to do. Hefting the corpse of Jack Matte over his shoulder, Jhin entered the R&D room. Schematics lined the walls, depicting the prototype robots, as well as the assembly area below. Jhin laid a large batch of grenades on the floor, exited the room, and fired. The resulting blast shook the building, and set the room aflame. As all records of Jack Matte's work burned away, Jhin carried the dead man out of the factory. He would leave him under the neon sign, with a lotus flower next to the corpse.

This time, he did not want the Golden Demon's involvement to be a rumor. He wanted the front page.

* * *

Miles away from Piltover, in Demacia, a masked man stood in the parlor of an ornate mansion. To say the Ionian looked out of place was an understatement, as the various servants and guests milling about the room gave the ninja, and his violet sword, a wide berth. For the first time since his arrival, a woman approached him and gave him a withering stare, directly at the eye-holes of the mask.

"I did offer you a place to sit, Shen."

The Kinkou leader shrugged. "I did not need it."

Rolling her eyes, Fiora guided Shen to the couch with a palm on his back, rather forcefully moving him across the room. As they both sat, Shen spoke up again.

"You said you needed me to examine something?"

The noblewoman nodded. "I see you like to get right to the point."

"I doubted you'd send a messenger to Ionia if it were not urgent, Ms. Laurent."

A brief smile crossed Fiora's face. "If only Demacians were as cordial as you, Shen." She reached into the front pocket of her jacket and revealed a strange, rubbery substance. "As you may have heard, a Demacian Baron was killed at his own party a few days ago."

Shen nodded. "Little escapes the eyes of the Kinkou. Lumicar?"

"Yes. Due to some uncouth rumors, I took it upon myself to investigate the grounds on my own. I found this tucked in a bush a mile from the estate."

She handed the object to Shen, who could now see that it was a worn, but well crafted mask, befitting the appearance of an old man. A small spectre of recognition churned his gut, but the Kinkou kept up the front of perfect tranquility.

"And what made you think to contact me?"

Fiora folded her arms. "Some of my contacts in the craftsman markets examined this for me. They say the type of sap used to construct this rubber

is completely foreign. Only harvested from a tree in the Zhyoun Province of Ionia."

Shen felt a sense of foreboding creep up his back. "Are you positive that is accurate?"

Fiora nodded. "I had it confirmed from multiple sources. It take it this means something to you?"

The Kinkou sprang from his seat, turning towards the door. "You made the right decision in contacting me, Fiora. I must go and gather my

associates."

As Shen briskly walked out of the room, Fiora followed, annoyed and intrigued. "What has you in such a hurry?"

The ninja's answer was blunt and quick. "Khada Jhin."


	6. Chapter 5: Improvisation

"Looks like you could use a pick-me-up, stranger!"

A meaty hand shoved a glass of some unidentifiable substance in Jhin's face. It was neon blue and glowing. It took every ounce of social graces he had to take a sip of the offending beverage. The taste reminded him of some sort of approximation of a blueberry, made by someone who had heard of one once, gotten a vague description, and then just made...this. But, after the week he'd had, he would take it.

* * *

Escaping Piltover after the Matte job was dicier than he had expected. The police had arrived quickly after he set fire to part of the factory. He was barely over the wall again when he heard the first sirens. Thankfully, he'd still escaped, but he dared not enter the city again. Instead, he was forced to take the long way around Piltover, using side roads and forgotten footpaths. Eventually he found himself looking back on the city from the other side, but it soon became clear that he would have to make the journey to Zaun on foot. Even Jhin had to admit, he had made a mistake.

Thankfully, his physical training was beneficial, as the numbing and aching of his legs was difficult to notice behind a convenient mental barrier. He was also used to working without sleep, as his days as the "Golden Demon" had kept him up for many nights, sometimes out of necessity for the job, others due to anticipation of them finding his work. And even a little, though he would never admit to it, out of fear that someone would knock on the door and enter with an Ionian police uniform.

Regardless, he had reached Zaun eventually, and with clothing recovered from a nearby dump, makeup made from hand-mixed sand, water, and a pinch of mud to create a splotchy complexion, and a bit of butchering of his own hair with a blade, Jhin had adopted the appearance of a Zaunite transient. Poverty was a major issue in the city-state, the divide between the rich moguls and homeless street dwellers was a deep one. So no one would question one more of them walking around town.

This bartender, however, apparently had a soft spot for them, as this drink was on the house. Jhin gave a bit of a sputter after downing the foul concoction and smiled at the man. "Thank you. I haven't had a good drink in ages!" The other man simply shrugged and nodded.

"No problem. We've been doing great business lately. Lots of bigwigs in this part of town. You take care, let me know if you need anything."

The bartender returned to his drinks, and Jhin stood and stretched his legs. He was somewhat unfamiliar with Zaun, so a little sightseeing wouldn't hurt. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if this was part of the job. No instructions had been given to him since he left the hotel in Demacia...perhaps he had made this hard on his employers?

The sights of the city quickly made him stop caring. Granted, most of the brightly colored, smog belching, overdesigned technocratic metropolis was garish and ugly, but there was a certain charm in it. A morbid fascination in how someone could look at this violent mashing of colors and styles and give it their approval. It was a gallery to the grotesque, and in a way, Jhin could appreciate that.

His analysis, however, was rudely interrupted when a wad of paper Zaunite money was stuffed into his palm. Jhin quickly remembered his disguise and gave a bow of respect to his mysterious benefactor, but the man...or woman, it was difficult to tell, for they had already vanished into the alleys, the sounds of shoes scuffing on the pavement the only reminder they had ever been there to begin with. To keep up appearances, he began pulling the bills apart, sliding them in his pockets with a feverish tempo. His hand hesitated, however, when he noticed that one of them was not a bill at all, but a slip of velvet colored paper. He smiled. He really was working with professionals.

* * *

 _Well done in Piltover, Khada Jhin. The whole city is well aware of Mr. Matte's death, and your name is quickly becoming a symbol of fear in the desert city. They will be relieved to learn that you are here instead. And they will soon find out._

 _Your next assignment is to take place tonight. Carol Sirv is the CEO of a Zaunite chemical corporation. She rose quickly in the ranks of the company, swiftly superseding even her own father. She is roughly 30 years of age, and tonight she is hosting the kickoff show of a concert tour by local band, Toxic Wayzte, dedicated to protesting the Zaunite construction of deadly chemical weapons._

 _She is due to come on stage during the intermission of the show. When she does, you will take action, and the crowd will watch their hostess die._

 _Best of luck,_  
 _Elder Xia_

 _P.S.: Don't worry, Khada Jhin. No matter what path you take, we will find you._

* * *

The assassin wasn't sure if her message was meant to be reassuring or threatening, but the sudden delivery was proof she wasn't bluffing. Either way, it did not particularly bother him. He had a show to plan.

Finding the venue was almost insultingly easy. The concert wasn't exactly a secret. Billboards throughout the city flickered with hextech lights, broadcasting the name "TOXIC WAYZTE" to the Zaunite sky, the address scrawled beneath. The concert hall was immodest, even for the Technocratic City. The walls towered high above the nearby buildings, seemingly another entry in the secret race of Zaunite architects to take up as much space as possible. Glass tubes propelled illuminated liquids at impossible speeds across the walls, creating the illusion of color itself bending and twisting on the outside of the massive stadium. Despite the chaotic nature of the gaudy display, Jhin could easily notice how routine and monotonous the patterns were. Blue, red, green, turquoise, and then it would repeat. There was nothing interesting in the expected. Such was always the problem with such meticulously designed disorder. It simply became the usual again.

Having taken in the main building, Jhin walked towards the gates, his strides exaggerated in the manner of the junkie he was impersonating. There was already a line of fans, mostly young men and women in outlandish outfits. Many of them had dyed streaks of their hair neon green, which, judging by the advertisements, was the band's signature color. The parade of youth ended in a guard station at the foot of the stadium, where six men in blue suits stood astride metal detectors and ticket taking machines. The front door would make for a poor entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, Jhin noticed a guard making his way through the crowd, lightly pushing the hordes of fans aside. His face seemed to be pointed directly at one of the small buildings attached to the concert hall. This was worth investigating.

Using the crowd as his cover, the assassin followed the guard, slowly approaching the door labelled "SECURITY ROOM". The ideas were already coalescing in his mind, and he had to remind himself not to get too excited for a plan yet...they hadn't even entered the room. The uniformed man wrenched the door open, and Jhin caught a glimpse of the treasure trove. Slipping inside, careful to match his footsteps with his prey's, the assassin found himself in a locker room. The walls were lined with racks of security outfits. Sheer opportunity left his head spinning, and his concentration mildly spent.

Clack-clack.

He had moved forward out of step with the security guard, and choked back a curse as the man turned, his age-worn face lighting up with shock and anger.

"What d'you think you're doin' here?"

 _Shit. That was just sloppy._

Determined to salvage the situation, Jhin began to mumble to himself. "S-sorry, not sure...where...have you seen…" Years of watching the stage came in handy, and the killer was able to adopt a rather convincing facsimile of the confused mumblings of an addict.

The guard's face softened, and he extended both hands to lightly rest on Jhin's shoulders. "Hey, no worries, buddy, let's get you outta here."

The act of compassion had taken his hands comfortably away from his sidearm. Jhin lunged forth, extending a knee into the other man's stomach. As he wheezed and hacked, his eyes wide with surprise, Jhin wrapped both hands around the guard's neck and pushed him onto a bench, straddling his shaking form as he slowly choked the life from the foolish old man. When he finally stopped struggling, his weapon clattering to the floor, Jhin stood and surveyed the room. No cameras. No other guards. Good.

As he left the remains in a locker, Jhin couldn't help but feel a touch of shame. After his near death at the hands of Jack Matte's pistol, a second mistake was damning. Perfection was a delicate concept, after all. He hated the word "ego" (it felt like a fragile invention to protect lesser performers from understanding their flaws) but his felt rather bruised. He'd simply need to excel elsewhere now, and so he did.

With a swift exchange of clothes from one of the racks on the wall, Jhin had the body of a guard, but not the face. That was a matter that took a little more delicate thinking. Deftly twisting his fingers, he lifted the dirt mixture from his face, transforming the splotches into age lines. It wasn't exactly quality makeup, but it would suffice. A few artificial wrinkles on the forehead and age lines on his cheeks made the assassin look worn, tired, and put-upon. Much like, he imagined, a security guard stuck babysitting a crowd of inebriated Zaunites. Completing his disguise with a scowl, Jhin began examining the diagrams on the walls of the security office. There were stage blueprints (A typical proscenium stage, with a long walkway in the middle. No underpassage, no trapdoors, nothing usable.), instructions for a fire drill (He'd already done the immolation thing this month.), and a diagram of spotlights, controlled by a remote switchboard. This, he thought, could be useful. Inspiration struck, and Jhin picked up the deceased guard's pistol from the floor. Hextech trash, loud, slow to reload, and utterly lacking flash. However, he knew just how to fix that.

As the disguised killer walked through the concert hall gates, ascending to the scaffolding that housed the lights, he couldn't help but remember something he'd heard said of himself.

* * *

"He can use everything as a weapon."

Tuula Prison had surprisingly decent food. Their stews in particular, looked fantastic. Jhin was acutely aware of this as he sat in his bare, white cell, looking at a bowl of it with no spoon.

The guard outside, holding the desired utensil, gave the speaker a baffled look. "It's a spoon. What's he gonna do, scoop my heart out?"

Kusho gave a grim glance to Jhin, who remained silent. "One of several possibilities, warden."

The elderly Kinkou had been a frequent visitor to the prison. Somehow, every time he arrived, it came with some sort of new, ridiculous restriction. Paranoid? Perhaps.

"Master Kusho…" The warden's eyes were weary. Jhin had gotten to know the man, he was rather thoroughly uninteresting. Competent at his job, but an utter bore in conversation. "Khada has been a model inmate. He's polite, he's calm… The others don't know who he is, but I'm sure they'd never even suspect this guy's the Golden Demon."

Jhin couldn't help but laugh. "Perhaps, Kusho, you've got the wrong man?"

Eyes narrowing, Kusho turned to the warden. "You didn't see what I saw, Warden. This man left some of the most disgusting crime scenes I have ever witnessed. Ugly, disgusting killings. The kind you would do anything to forget."

Animosity began to boil in Jhin's stomach as the Kinkou master continued.

"He is a complete psychopath. The only reason we caught him is because he's sloppy."

"Do not INSULT my work!" The outburst came before Jhin could contain it, and he was suddenly pressing himself against the prison bars, glaring daggers at the Kinkou master. "You uncultured, idiotic, worthless-"

He realized his mistake as the warden's eyes widened. Kusho had been laying a trap. And Jhin had walked right in. Kusho lightly lifted the spoon from the guard's suddenly limp hand, placing it securely in his pocket. "Heed my words, warden. He can use EVERYTHING as a weapon."

* * *

The man wasn't wrong.

After completing his adjustments, Jhin returned to the ground floor of the concert hall. By now, the show was starting, and he needed to simply stand in the aisles and watch. This proved harder than expected, as Toxic Wayzte was absolutely atrocious. The band seemed to be comprised of pure noise, as if insulting the very concept of music itself. However, his cover identity would be used to this assault on the senses, so he stood and watched in pain as yet another squealing guitar riff threatened to rupture his eardrums. As the band completed their first set, the dimming of the lights shook Jhin to attention, and excitement. A voice over the speaker system was announcing the name of the concert sponsor, Carol Sirv. The shadowed figure walked towards the podium at the front of the stage, and the familiar pleasure rush of a plan coming together filled Jhin's body.

Of course, the podium wouldn't be for the performers. Their instruments were set up in the back. So, why the spotlights there? Someone would use it. Someone like a guest speaker, perhaps Ms. Sirv?

The clacking of her heels against the metal stage grew louder in time with the pounding of Jhin's heart.

The spotlight! Of course! It was aimed right where she would stand! And if one were to rest the triggering mechanism of a pistol on the remote switch…

Click.

The light shone on Carol Sirv, the very picture of confidence. Jhin smiled and said a silent farewell.

Bang.

Mere moments later, the pistol Jhin had lodged in the light discharged, the switch having pressed itself perfectly against the trigger. Admittedly, not his most foolproof plan...but it seemed the risk had paid off.

A single bullet drilled itself into Carol Sirv's heart, and she fell backwards, gasping once, then dying.

Chaos reigned around him as screaming audience members fled their seats, with guards peppering return fire shots towards the now broken spotlight. There was no assassin hiding there, of course. But they certainly didn't know that.

Jhin simply took advantage of the madness to slip out with the crowd, adrenaline filling him as he took one last look at the body of Carol Sirv. She'd never expected it. Not that he blamed her. Eventually, they would find the hidden gun in the light. They would find the dead guard in the locker. And then, the rumor mill would do its work, spreading whispers and fear of the Golden Demon.

That was exactly what Jhin was looking forward to.


	7. Chapter 6: Intermission

**AN: Wow, been a while, huh? I've been unfortunately busy and had a mean case of "Can't write right now." So this chapter was about half done...in December, and the rest of it got done this morning. Hooray!**

There was a certain trepidation in the carriage driver's voice. His heavy breathing matched that of his horse, a creature that seemed to have a few more mechanical augmentations than most. Typical Zaunite philosophy, stuff Hextech into everything you can. Jhin loathed the overcomplication, but he kept silent. He didn't say anything during his ride, simply lounging in the backseat, his gaze cast over the craggy Noxian landscape.

While the Noxian roads that connected the Grand General's Empire to Zaun were mostly far too rough and rugged for automobiles, the pumping metallic limbs of the horse propelled the carriage steadily across the wastelands. Before Jhin's eyes, the stone fortress city of Noxus loomed over the borderlands, a statement of strength from the very walls themselves. The sound of hooves on dirt transitioned to the grinding of wheels on stone as the carriage pulled into the checkpoint at the city gate.

A black-helmed soldier peered in the front window, a metal visor covering most of his face. "Papers?"

Jhin watched as the driver displayed his passports. Zaun was one of the few city-states on anything resembling friendly terms with the Noxian empire. That certainly didn't stop the driver's hand from trembling as the soldier snatched away the papers. The man's helmet inclined and seemed to glower over the papers. The silence was mercifully short before the guard's gauntlet shoved its way back into the carriage window, returning the crinkled mass of documents to the driver.

"You're clear, go on through." The guard turned his attention back to the horizon as the carriage tumbled onto the cobblestone streets of Noxus. Jhin's eyes were immediately drawn to the rows of statues that flanked the city's main street, depicting various Noxian generals in ornate armor, from every era of Runeterran history. The details of their conquests and victories were scrawled on plaques below.

* * *

Once, Jhin had been very interested in Noxian history. There was not much to do in Tuula Prison, and the guards and fellow inmates were drastically uncultured and dull, so Jhin often sought solace in books. Thankfully, the prison did have a library, and he was allowed access to the (paperback) histories within. He often enjoyed imagining himself in great battles, offering himself challenges in his imagination. Could he assassinate the leader of the enemy army, using only period accurate weaponry? Could he find a way to kill both opposing generals at once? The most detailed accounts of these grisly battles often came from the Noxian tomes. And artists do adore the details.

At first, the stories were marvelous. Sieges of ancient castles, violent rebellions, last stands of empires soon to be wiped from Runeterra, only remembered within their greatest defeats. However, he soon encountered an issue, one he often did with Noxian warfare.

There was no creativity.

For centuries, the empire of Noxus had, and likely still, used simple tactics. Overwhelming their enemies with troops and weaponry, bargaining with neighbors for the most powerful technologies, and absorbing more and more lands into their growing territory. Interesting at first, but a pattern repeats only so many times before it becomes simple monotony.

The Noxian invasion of Ionia remained at the forefront of the minds of many of the islanders, grudges concealed behind veils of peaceful meditation and weak clinging to the land's spiritual values. Tuula had been run by monks, and they preached tolerance, but Jhin could see the subtle changes in expression when the Noxian empire was mentioned. He doubted any of their vows would last, given the chance to be tested. He had nothing against the Noxians, personally. A little bloodshed did wonders in a place as bland as Ionia. He simply wished they'd been a little more sophisticated about it.

* * *

The carriage driver was looking at him expectantly. Jhin snapped back up once he realized the vehicle was stopped, and handed his chauffeur a hefty sum. With the doors still closed, the driver whispered, as if terrified of anyone outside hearing. "What's a photographer doing in Noxus?"

Oh, yes. He'd nearly forgotten he had that disguise on. Jhin gave the fake camera around his neck a tap and bowed as he exited the carriage.

"Just looking for the perfect shot."

A thin smile crept across the assassin's face as he stepped out into the city.

 _Maybe a little cliche. But a bit of showmanship just makes things more fun._

He deftly twirled a small slip of paper between his fingers. Carefully folded, he had found it on the nightstand the first morning in the dingy Zaunite motel. It certainly hadn't been there when he had gone to bed. A velvet envelope. He had learned what that meant by now.

* * *

"Khada Jhin,  
Congratulations on your successful work. I can confirm that from the audience, it looked quite lovely. Better than the concert, certainly. We are approaching the final few jobs on your docket, but we are certainly not finished.

In the Noxian capital, the balance of power is threatened. A young man who goes by the name of "Leo" is rapidly rising in rank amongst the military elite, typically by defeating his superiors in duels. His last name is unknown, as he seems to have grown in the gutters of the city. He rallies his followers with promises of undermining Grand General Swain, though he has spoken with the General himself. He does know his enemy. The malcontents and outcasts of the city are flocking under his wings. You are to clip them.

Elder Xia  
Note: Our agents have left a gift for you in the northwest tower of Conquest Forum. Look for the crate marked in red."

* * *

Mixed emotions flared in Jhin as he glanced over the last words of the note again. He didn't like his job being done for him. Still, an extra tool never hurt the sculptor, nor would it hinder him.

The assassin looked decidedly out of place on the Noxian streets. The garish tones of Zaunite neons were useful in the industrial city, increasing visibility in the smog, but many of the Noxians, wearing simple cloth outfits or partial suits of armor, gave the foreigner a questioning and slightly aggressive gaze. He doubted that asking around for the location of Conquest Forum would be a good idea. The more memorable he was, the more suspicious he would be. And he certainly didn't need that, not yet. Instead, he chose to follow the crowds, surveying excitedly like a tourist while he searched for street signs or markers to his destination.

All manner of weapons were glinting in storefronts and front doors, each building seemingly "armed". A Noxian tradition, evidently, to show off their greatest weaponry, and to provide quick defense in case of attack or revolution. Compared to Ionia, the culture shock proved amusing to Jhin. Of course, the weapons were ugly, tilted, misplaced, unpolished, blunt, nicked, or all other manners of unacceptable, but the tradition was quaint.

Someone else seemed to be interested as well. He wore Noxian garb, but his movements were nothing like the others. He held his hands behind his back, and walked with a more relaxed pattern, as if it was simply being stretched into briskness to match the crowd's pace. Jhin's interest quickly shifted, and he watched the man closely as he moved, several paces in front of him. He clearly didn't belong, his eyes darting all over the place, and he seemed to be in disguise. A spy, perhaps? He had to know. Slightly increasing his own pace, Jhin began to overtake the stranger, silently weaving his way through the grumbling crowd. On a market stand in front of them, Jhin could see a polished shield, and he kept his eyes on it as he walked, focusing intently and using the armament as a mirror to get a good look at his quarry. The strange man had stark Ionian features, and to Jhin's shock, the deep blue insignia of an eye tattooed on his forearm.

Things had suddenly become more interesting. Though he split off from the man at the next fork in the road, his presence greatly bothered Khada Jhin. That tattoo was a mark used to identify bodies after a skirmish, used in ancient Ionia. It was the symbol of the Kinkou.

* * *

Minutes later he had found Conquest Forum. The Noxian forums were a common part of the empire's culture, providing meeting places for the citizens of their cities, as well as facilities for entertainment. This being Noxus, such entertainment was not always without casualties. The sight of the Kinkou man continued to force itself into Jhin's mind. This complicated things. He couldn't do anything up close. He knew they moved in packs, and if he killed one, there would be backup. He was the perfect killer, but that much rabble could overwhelm him. No, this kill would need to be clean. It would need to be quiet. It would need to not draw any attention.

"Hail Leo! Hail Leo! Savior of the Noxian slums! Champion of the uprising!"

The fact that his target, dressed in opulent armor, was being flanked by a subordinate who insisted on shouting about his master's arrival only made things more infuriating.

Indeed, it seemed, Leo had entered the forum. He was a tall, square-jawed, balded man, his face covered in scars and cuts. The wounds were surface level, Jhin evaluated, nothing that impressive. He wore a triumphant grin, and eagerly greeted the crowd swelling to meet him. Jhin feigned interest to blend in, slowly backpedaling towards the northwestern tower. Perhaps that gift would come in handy after all.

The ancient stone tower was creaky and disheveled. From the small slits in the walls, Jhin could tell it had once been a defensive structure. But, as he climbed the steps, an eye and ear out for any guards or civilian obstacles, it became tragically clear that whatever former honor the structure had possessed was stripped long ago. This was a glorified storehouse. Brushing flecks of dust off of his carefully molded mask, Jhin glanced around the top floor. In the darkness of the abandoned building, he could only vaguely make out shapes, but the small amount of light that streamed in from the far window offered some vague assistance. It was enough to give him vision of a stack of wooden boxes. One of them, thankfully, the one on top, carried a red splotch. It looked like a painting accident, perfectly accidental. Jhin knew better, running a gloved hand over the lid to find it already slightly ajar. Reaching inside, he felt a familiar coolness, rigid metal resting at his fingertips. He grinned widely as he pulled out the remainder of Whisper, a large attachment for the pistol that converted it into a longer range weapon. Typically, he carried it with a shoulder mount, but that was rather counterproductive for an undercover mission.

The sigil of the Kinkou was an unfortunate reminder that this wouldn't be as simple an affair as the last few killings. Still, if he had managed to rattle the Ionian higher-ups into action, Jhin took a slight glee in knowing his work was accomplishing something. Basking in the glory of his previous achievements, Jhin rested at the edge of the tower and peeked out the window. Below him, the forum was alive with activity and sound. He surveyed a number of merchants, hawking food and weapons. They were obnoxious, but not loud enough to mask the sound of a gunshot. The crowd was dense, but not so much that it would block his bullet. He'd made more difficult shots. What intrigued Jhin most was his quarry himself. Leo seemed rather detached, barely noticing the crowd of adoring peasants that seemed to cling to his ankles. The Noxian was looking across the crowded square, his face stony and emotionless. Intrigued, Jhin followed Leo's gaze, the scope of Whisper proving an effective enhancement for his vision. The general seemed focused on a tall, elderly man who had just entered the square.

This new arrival was somewhat familiar. Jhin recalled his slender figure and angular features from the various propaganda posters that dotted the city. He was wearing a black robe with a red collar, looking very Noxian. The man practically screamed "government lackey". Jhin swerved his vision back to Leo, interested to see his vacant expression slightly shift. Widened eyes, a hint of a smile. Jhin knew the emotion well. He was a predator, and he'd just found the prey he was looking for.

"ARAN!"

The lively din of the marketplace became a near complete silence as Leo barked the name of his target. It was a shout honed on the battlefield, designed to strike louder than explosions and clashing metal, making it all the more dominant against simple conversation.

The robed man turned and walked towards Leo, a sneer on his face. It was difficult to hear the details of the conversation from so far away, but Jhin had a little experience in lip reading, with his stage work.

"...Leo….pleasures...gutter….passing through….do you want?"

The general's voice was, thankfully, louder, and he appeared to be grandstanding for the crowd. Even from the top of the tower, Jhin required no tricks to understand his words.

"Don't patronize me, Advisor Aran. I have heard how you refer to me in the Grand General's court. Your cowardly insults only prove that you are unfit for your position!"

Jhin quickly swiveled back to watch Aran's face.

"...sad….uncouth…" Some sort of Noxian slang followed that Jhin didn't quite comprehend, but judging by the gasps of the gathered crowd, it was rather rude.

 _Huh. Going to have to write that down._

Even with his focus still on Aran, the distant sound of a blade being unsheathed was easy enough for the assassin to recognize. Eagerly, he turned his attention to Leo again. The bulky warrior had taken a sizable broadsword into his hands, pointing it at Aran. While some of the crowd backed away in fear, the advisor seemed unafraid.

"Such language, Aran! I must insist, if you have such a problem with me, that we settle it in the dueling ring!" As Leo gestured towards a marked off circle in the Forum, the crowd erupted into cheers. It seems this was the entertainment they wanted. Even Jhin felt a little excited as the Advisor, wordlessly, walked into the arena, revealing a pair of daggers he seemed to carry on his person. He cocked an eyebrow at Leo, who was removing his chestplate and following him into the arena. Heavy armor did tend to make these things so much less interesting.

Jhin studied the stances of both men as they took their places in the arena. Leo held his sword with both hands, his grip tight on the hilt of the weapon. He clearly had the advantage in size and power. Aran looked to be the clear underdog, older and less bulky, but Jhin could see the way he expertly held his daggers, fingers placed for maximum control. His knees were bent slightly, as if he were already preparing to leap at his foe. There was some surprising agility apparent in the advisor. Jhin would have loved to see this all play out, but he knew that work needed to come first.

The man who had announced Leo's entrance earlier began to count down.

"On your marks! Five!"

Jhin steadied his aim.

"Four! Three!"

The assassin breathed deeply, the barrel of the gun trained between Leo's shoulderblades.

"Two! One!"

An errant creak from behind. Jhin realized with a start that he wasn't alone.

"Duel!"

He would have to make this quick. Just as the countdown ended, Leo aggressively rushed forward, lunging with his sword. A predictable tactic, and evidently one Aran had thought of as well. The advisor leapt into the air and twisted his body, the tip of his opponent's sword gouging nothing but empty space. Chuckling, he ran towards Leo, weapon at the ready.

Jhin was faster. With a crack, a bullet streaked through the sky, unnoticed amongst the cheering crowd. All they saw was Leo gasp and fall, blood spattering forward onto Aran's face. The old advisor's face was lit with confusion and horror. He hadn't even struck the man. As the shouts of the crowd overwhelmed him, though, he decided that it wasn't worth the worry. Standing over the body of his former rival, Aran gave a deep bow.

High above the scene, Jhin quickly turned around. In the darkness of the tower, it was difficult to see his incoming assailant, but the sound of a blade scraping wood made it apparent what direction he was coming from.

"You are RUINING my moment!" Jhin was livid, and nimbly struck forward with his hand, colliding with the attacker. The other man grunted with surprise, and through the window's light, Jhin could finally see his foe. It was the Kinkou from earlier. He silently lashed out again, the knife clutched in his hand tearing the front of Jhin's shirt and leaving a light gash in his stomach. Backpedaling, Jhin wrenched the rifle out of position in the window and spun it over his head, the ongoing chaos from Leo's death below resounding through the open air. He brought the butt of the gun down, hard, on the Kinko ninja's head. With a crack, he sunk to the ground, dazed, and it was all the time Jhin needed. With a fluid sweep, he ducked, wrestled the knife from the ninja's hand, and carved a bloody swath through the man's midsection. With a faint gurgle, the Kinkou was dead, and Jhin could relax.

Calmly, he left the sniper rifle parts, as well as the body, in the crate that had been marked for him. Holstering Whisper carefully beneath his disguise, Jhin descended the tower and exited through the still lively crowd below. It had been a successful assassination, but Jhin still felt underwhelmed.

He hated to miss the climax.

* * *

Late at night, a masked figure approached what seemed to be an unremarkable tower. Shen frowned beneath his coverings. It had been an unpleasant day.

Days of not hearing from his informant in Noxus culminated with a message delivered by raven. Evidently, Jericho Swain wanted to talk. Thankfully, Shen could arrive in Noxus very quickly, though he had Akali accompany him. When dealing with the Grand General, it was typically wise to bring an extra weapon.

His worst fears were confirmed, the agent was dead, his corpse found stuffed away with the murder weapon used to dispose of a Noxian general, under the guise of a duel. Swain had joked that at first he suspected the Kinkou, but quickly realized that men with footlong fatal cuts in their abdomens rarely shot precision rifles. At least, Shen hoped it was a joke. It was admittedly difficult to tell. He had been given permission to access the murder scene under cover of darkness, with the General asking him not to be seen, as not to raise a panic in the empire. Thankfully, Shen was rather good at that.

He stepped inside the old stone building. The torches that lined the walls had already been lit, likely in preparation for his arrival. He waded through the mess of destroyed crates that, evidently, composed a Noxian investigation before reaching the stairs. Jhin would shoot from the top floor. Anything else wouldn't be dramatic enough. There was something comforting in thinking of the Golden Demon as a character in a play. Shen suspected that someday, Jhin's flair for drama would make him predictable, and that would be his downfall.

One thing that wasn't predictable, however, was the other man standing in the room atop the tower. Shen felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked into a familiar mask, a metal grate over the darkness that covered the face. Shen would never forget that face, however.

"Zed."

Reaching around to grasp his spectral sword, Shen shifted to put a row of boxes inbetween him and the other ninja. He knew that his rival's shurikens would be a quick death sentence, even for a Kinkou master. Zed raised both hands mockingly in response.

"Calm down. I'm not here to fight. I wouldn't be standing in the open if I wanted to slit your throat."

There was a twinge of sadness that pulled, unconvincingly, at Shen's deep buried emotions. Zed's voice sounded raspier every time he encountered the man he had once called his brother. He wondered how much of him was even still human. Zed continued.

"You know as well as I do who did this. And we both despise him."

Shen nodded curtly. "True. Then I suppose you have information to share, or you come looking for mine?"

With a shake of his head, Zed responded. "No. I've already investigated in secret. I have eyes in faraway places too, Shen. And mine aren't dead."

Ignoring the slight, Shen simply cut him off. "Get to the point, Zed. Why did you come here?"

The other ninja straightened and growled.

"I want to help you kill Khada Jhin."


End file.
